saying we may never know. Happens a lot down here. Weird shit happens and stays weird. Eventually people lose interest or forget. Or get paid off to forget. That’s just how it goes.”
There was a silence. The palm fronds waved and scratched. A faint whiff of chlorine spun up from the pool.
Jake said, “D’you know her very well?”
“Well? Not really. But she’s been here almost three months, off and on, whenever they’ve been shooting. Usually on her own. At the start there was a guy with her some of the time. Haven’t seen him lately. I think she threw him out a month or so ago. Just as well. Struck me as a knucklehead, maybe worse. But her I like. A little crazy, I think, but a pistol.”
“Yeah, she is. Both.”
Jake looked away and Joey took the opportunity to send him an appraising glance. The new arrival looked fairly ragged, beat up, overwhelmed; Joey felt bad for him and wanted to do him a kindness. Rising from his chair, he said, “You happen to be free for dinner?”
Jake just blinked.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you come by later and eat with us. Me, my wife, an old friend.”
Touched, surprised, Jake said, “Jeez, that’s really nice but —”
“Come on. We’ll drink some wine, we’ll toast to Donna’s health. You’ll feel better being with some people.” He glanced toward the stunt girl’s empty cottage. “Little too quiet around here today. Come by around six. Twelve-fourteen White Street, two blocks before the pier.”
11.
At a private marina on an exclusive island in Biscayne Bay, a gleaming speedboat was being carefully tied into its berth.
The boat’s color was a mysteriously shimmering purplish gray, easily mistaken for blue or black. Its steeply raked and mirror-tinted windshield was seamlessly joined to a fixed bimini that made the cockpit appear, from various angles, either open or closed. There was something shark-like in the tumescent bulge of the hull. The custom craft was on the one hand very distinctive and on the other hand a numb amalgam of the many hundreds of fast, loud, expensive and dangerous toys that plied the waters of the Gulf Stream and the Florida Straits.
When the last dock line had been cleated off, a big man stepped from the boat, eschewing the offered gangway in favor a single, long, thick-legged but athletic step to shore. Reaching into a pocket of his tight black shorts, he produced a wad of bills and peeled off a fifty for the wiry Spanish guys who manned the ropes. Then he headed toward land, where a rank of condos rose like abrupt glass buttes in a landscape that was otherwise astonishingly flat.
Seen from behind, the big man was a series of hard angles and lumpy curves. His short black hair was clipped knife-straight across his neck; muscles bulged in his shoulders like the knobs in braided bread. His hips were square and narrow but his rounded buttocks flinched inside his too-tight shorts, pulling the seam into his butt-crack, forcing him to kick out and shake a foot every third step to clear it.
He walked over to a high-rise whose pretentious porte-cochere was mere yards from the softly lapping bay. He gave his name to a surly doorman and was shown up to the twenty-second floor. Not to an apartment on the twenty-second floor — to the entire level of the building. He was met at the elevator by a bodyguard even beefier than himself. The two giants greeted one another with a light bump of their enormous fists, then the visitor was ushered into the sprawling apartment.
In the living room he was briefly blinded by the glare of the unshaded windows, behind which the view was so large you could see the curving of the earth. Yachts, fishing skiffs, cabin cruisers inched along the water, leaving tiny chevron wakes like toy craft in a park pond. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a short man sitting on a sofa, one arm circling behind as though staking claim to some babe. He was short but not small; he had a thick neck that seemed to have been
There was a silence. The palm fronds waved and scratched. A faint whiff of chlorine spun up from the pool.
Jake said, “D’you know her very well?”
“Well? Not really. But she’s been here almost three months, off and on, whenever they’ve been shooting. Usually on her own. At the start there was a guy with her some of the time. Haven’t seen him lately. I think she threw him out a month or so ago. Just as well. Struck me as a knucklehead, maybe worse. But her I like. A little crazy, I think, but a pistol.”
“Yeah, she is. Both.”
Jake looked away and Joey took the opportunity to send him an appraising glance. The new arrival looked fairly ragged, beat up, overwhelmed; Joey felt bad for him and wanted to do him a kindness. Rising from his chair, he said, “You happen to be free for dinner?”
Jake just blinked.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you come by later and eat with us. Me, my wife, an old friend.”
Touched, surprised, Jake said, “Jeez, that’s really nice but —”
“Come on. We’ll drink some wine, we’ll toast to Donna’s health. You’ll feel better being with some people.” He glanced toward the stunt girl’s empty cottage. “Little too quiet around here today. Come by around six. Twelve-fourteen White Street, two blocks before the pier.”
11.
At a private marina on an exclusive island in Biscayne Bay, a gleaming speedboat was being carefully tied into its berth.
The boat’s color was a mysteriously shimmering purplish gray, easily mistaken for blue or black. Its steeply raked and mirror-tinted windshield was seamlessly joined to a fixed bimini that made the cockpit appear, from various angles, either open or closed. There was something shark-like in the tumescent bulge of the hull. The custom craft was on the one hand very distinctive and on the other hand a numb amalgam of the many hundreds of fast, loud, expensive and dangerous toys that plied the waters of the Gulf Stream and the Florida Straits.
When the last dock line had been cleated off, a big man stepped from the boat, eschewing the offered gangway in favor a single, long, thick-legged but athletic step to shore. Reaching into a pocket of his tight black shorts, he produced a wad of bills and peeled off a fifty for the wiry Spanish guys who manned the ropes. Then he headed toward land, where a rank of condos rose like abrupt glass buttes in a landscape that was otherwise astonishingly flat.
Seen from behind, the big man was a series of hard angles and lumpy curves. His short black hair was clipped knife-straight across his neck; muscles bulged in his shoulders like the knobs in braided bread. His hips were square and narrow but his rounded buttocks flinched inside his too-tight shorts, pulling the seam into his butt-crack, forcing him to kick out and shake a foot every third step to clear it.
He walked over to a high-rise whose pretentious porte-cochere was mere yards from the softly lapping bay. He gave his name to a surly doorman and was shown up to the twenty-second floor. Not to an apartment on the twenty-second floor — to the entire level of the building. He was met at the elevator by a bodyguard even beefier than himself. The two giants greeted one another with a light bump of their enormous fists, then the visitor was ushered into the sprawling apartment.
In the living room he was briefly blinded by the glare of the unshaded windows, behind which the view was so large you could see the curving of the earth. Yachts, fishing skiffs, cabin cruisers inched along the water, leaving tiny chevron wakes like toy craft in a park pond. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a short man sitting on a sofa, one arm circling behind as though staking claim to some babe. He was short but not small; he had a thick neck that seemed to have been
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